Dirk's gaze roamed the cabin. These others—Allen, Kennedy—even Tabor who was only an observer—would listen to the words of the Commandant; but they would know that his message was meant only for Dirk. Dirk Jemson—the Commandant's son.
Wave upon wave of the sickness swept over him and he fought desperately against the impulse to call out for help. He imagined the surprise on their faces as they assisted him, and then, afterward, the polite pretense that nothing had happened.
Why couldn't they leave him on Terra, doing the things he wanted to do—the things he could do well? He was an alien here. He had been an alien in the Service from the beginning. The agonizing days at the strato-school on Mars still stood vividly in his memory.
They had expected such great things of him. After all, he was the son of Commandant Jemson and his brother Ken had been one of the most brilliant graduates the school ever had. Now, young Dirk was there to carry on in the Jemson tradition—to make good for the Commandant and for the gallant Ken who had lost his life in the first attempt made to land on Setebos.
They had expected great things—but they had been disappointed. Of course, his panic on the trip to Mars had been understandable. The first experience in space. It often happened so. Soon he'd be as calm and unaffected as the others.
Then, there had been the practice flight to Deimos. For Dirk, it still had the immediacy of a nightmare. It was five years now—more than five—and yet he could still visualize the cramped quarters of that training ship.
The instructor had been a fish-faced young man named Petley. Ensign Petley. He had seen in Dirk Jemson a chance for advancement. Give the commandant's son the breaks, he had told himself, and you'll get a promotion.
As the trainer approached Deimos, Petley had turned from the visi-shield and smiled patronizingly at the tensed class who crowded around him.
"We're approaching Deimos, class," he said, and his lips made little smacking noises as he spoke. "I'm going to let Dirk show us how to make a landing. Dirk—take the controls."